


Wine Selection

by privateerwrites



Series: Musketeer March 2021 [7]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Hugs, M/M, anyeay, just some Softness to round out the week, uhhh this is just fluff, yeah!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:13:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29913975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/privateerwrites/pseuds/privateerwrites
Summary: Musketeer March Day 7- WineTreville and Richelieu enjoy a dinner together, complete with cuddles afterwards, because cuddles.
Relationships: Armand Jean du Plessis de Richelieu/de Tréville (Trois Mousquetaires)
Series: Musketeer March 2021 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2188632
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Wine Selection

Treville approaches the door to the Cardinal's office quietly, letting the carpet swallow his footsteps. He knocks gently on the door he knows so well from years of looking at it, years of habit, years of waiting on nights just like these. He glances down at the paper in his hand once more, checks the time, and stands back from the door, waiting for it to open. Richelieu is not a man who keeps people waiting without reason, and Treville hasn't been in that position in a very, very long time.   
  
It swings open just as he's beginning to rock on his heels a little impatiently, though that really doesn't take much time at all. He is ushered inside by a Red Guard, ignoring the look on the soldier's face, something between smug and offended that he finds he doesn't like at all.   
  
He sweeps through the sets of doors towards the Cardinal’s rooms with a confidence he still doesn't quite feel, even with Armand's repeated reminders that he should be just as comfortable here as in the garrison.   
  
Treville reaches the inner chamber, and here he pauses, waits for the Red Guard to catch up.   
  
"Captain Treville, of the King's Musketeers, here to see his Eminence,” the man says loudly. Bernajoux, Treville thinks, anyway. He isn’t in the habit of keeping a running tally of the Red Guards in his head.   
  
"Enter," calls Richelieu, firm and commanding even through the door. It swings wide open, and Treville steps in. He is only a few steps in before it slams behind him again, and only then does Richelieu's vaguely pleased expression turn to a smile, a real one. There are no guards in the room, having already been cleared out before Treville's arrival, and Treville finds he is glad that he doesn't have to wait any longer to see that look on his lover's face.   
  
"Jean," Armand says quietly. "Hello, love." Treville leans in and presses a kiss to his lips, careful and soft. Armand reaches up to cup his chin, and they kiss like that for a long moment, gentle and sweet. They pull back from each other eventually, slowly, savoring this instant, this precious rare moment in time.   
  
"Sit," Armand instructs, gesturing to the fully lain table. "I have wine and good food, and I should like to enjoy it with you." Jean smiles.   
  
"As you wish, Your Eminence." He takes Richelieu's hand and leads him gently to his seat first, before rounding the table to take his own place.   
  
The wine is poured. Jean takes a long sip, lets it roll around in his mouth, enjoying the flavor before swallowing.   
  
"An excellent choice," he declares, his smile widening a little. Richelieu's taste in wine is rather exactly to his liking, and they both know it after many, many dinners spent insulting everything except for the choice of wine.   
  
"Only the best, Captain." Richelieu is clearly also enjoying this, the exchange of gentle jokes and soft words. They dig into their meal, Jean slowing the pace at which he desires to eat so as to more thoroughly appreciate food that hasn't just come from the stew pot at the garrison or a basket full of slightly-too-old vegetables.   
  
"I trust it is to your taste?"   
  
"Indeed, Armand."   
  
They drink and eat and revel in the company of each other, in the simple pleasure of sharing a meal with the man they love.   
  
When they've both finished their food and refilled their wine glasses, Treville stands, pushing back his chair. He offers his arm to Richelieu, who takes it as he rises, and together they adjourn to a sitting room that Armand keeps mostly for this purpose.   
  
Carefully, Armand collapses onto the couch, exhaustion showing on his features far more heavily than Jean knows he would like.   
  
"What do you need?"   
  
"You."   
  
Jean smiles.   
  
"Then you shall have what you desire."   
  
He sits down next to Richelieu carefully, so as not to disturb any part of him that aches too much, and gathers the Cardinal into his arms. Carefully, he removes the heavy jacket and cap that Armand is never seen outside of his personal rooms without. Armand tucks his head into Jean's shoulder, pressing gentle kisses to his neck.   
  
"I love you," he murmurs softly, in a voice that, even if there were anyone else in the room, would be audible only to Jean.   
  
"And I you."   
  
Jean settles back against the cushions, and Armand lays down against his chest, his head pillowed on Jean's shoulder, his back pressed against Jean's stomach. Jean brings his hand up, softly begins carding it through the Cardinal's hair.   
  
Armand whimpers, and Jean's heart clenches in sympathy. His lover is a strong man, and seeing him in pain makes Jean want to hurt whatever causes the Cardinal harm. Ultimately, he knows that's not possible, but it is a nice thought on nights like these, nights when it is just them and the rest of the world melts away behind the wine and the food and the joy.   
  
They stay like that as Armand trembles in Jean's arms, sleeping fitfully. Jean wonders, distantly, if he would have slept at all if not for Jean and the wine. Probably not, he thinks, and decides not to dwell on it further. No reason to disturb the small oasis of peace he has built in his brain in this space right now. He leans down, presses a kiss to the top of Armand's head. He glances over at the clock on the mantle and sighs sadly.   
  
Carefully, he slides out from beneath Armand, leaves the note he'd already written tucked into Richelieu’s hand, swings his cloak over his shoulders. He looks back one last time at Armand's mostly still form, lain out against the furniture, and then opens the door, jamming his hat on his head. His smile does not leave him the whole way home, and his sense of peace remains for far longer than that.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are both greatly appreciated!! 
> 
> If tumblr is more your thing, I'm also over there at privateerstudies!


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